


Scribble Down Something That's Sweet

by summerstorm



Category: Disney RPF, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Female Friendship, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Joe breaks up with Taylor, Demi doesn't have a love life, Selena's in love with her best friend (her other best friend), and Taylor writes a lot of songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [presentpathos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/presentpathos/gifts), [tagalongcookies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagalongcookies/gifts).



> Tons, tons of thanks go to: idella for encouraging me to finish and giving me suggestions re where the story should go, Elanya and Moontyger for beta, and easy_academy for putting the idea of Joe/David in my head even though that's not what this story is about.

It's not a spur-of-the-moment decision, breaking up with Taylor, not even close. It's not a half-baked thought or something Joe thinks he might try just to see what happens. Taylor's driving him _crazy_. If he has to put up with any more of her shit, he's going to go full-on American Psycho on her. It's not going to be pretty, and when his father next accuses him of having the devil inside, Joe's going to have to accept it as a legitimate concern.

Joe's not much of a believer, but he refuses to give his father a reason to try to exorcize him, so the only option left is calling it quits.

He doesn't actually plan to hang up less than half a minute in, but there's a reason he's breaking up with Taylor, and that's the fact that sometimes she just won't shut up.

"'This is not working'?" Taylor snaps, about eighteen seconds in.

"Taylor," he warns, but she's not listening.

"Have you _tried_ to make this work? Every time I try to talk to you, you look the other way, sometimes at other _girls_ , Joe. How is that my fault?"

"I didn't say it was your fault," he says, but she's talking over him already.

"Of course it is," she goes on, half sobbing, "you said it's not working, and obviously if you thought it was your fault maybe you'd try to put something of yourself in it," and he hears the door to the B&N storage room click open, "but you're just dumping it on me—you're just dumping _me_ , oh my _God_ , Joe, how can you be so freaking selfish?"

That's when Demi comes in, and he blurts out, "Okay, good talk," and hangs up.

"Who was that?" Demi asks, wary.

He blinks, eying his cellphone like Taylor's voice is going to keep coming out of it even though he's canceled the call. He turns it off. "That was Taylor."

"I don't know what you're doing with her," Demi says casually, standing on her tiptoes to lift a cardboard box up into a shelf.

"I'm not," Joe mutters, walking out.

Demi follows. "You're not what?"

"Doing anything with her," Joe says.

"Oh," Demi says. Then, with a mocking grin, "Is that a bad thing? Do you need me to cradle you to sleep?"

Joe shoots her a glare. "It can't be worse than dating her."

Demi nods in agreement.

"She's going to have me shunned," Joe says.

"She can't shun you; you're the school's QB," Demi offers helpfully.

"She's not going to stop until she has my head on a post," Joe despairs. "I broke up with her in _half a minute_."

Demi's eyes widen, and when he thinks she's going to be understanding and tell him that anyone would have done the same given Taylor's ability to shriek at levels forbidden by law, she has the balls to punch him in the arm. "You little shit," she says, and she looks serious about it.

Okay, so he shouldn't have hung up. But Demi had just walked in, and he wasn't going to let Taylor trash-talk him in front of Demi. He has a rep to maintain. So Demi's a lesbian, whatever, she's still a girl. She has the inside scoop, she looks good on Joe's arm, and she'd accepted Joe's offer to be his backup date to school events in case things with Taylor got really screwed up and he found himself unable to get out of taking her to the Homecoming dance. Taylor takes things like prom pretty seriously. She writes songs about it. They're pretty fucking decent songs, but that's not the point.

"She was screaming at me," he defends himself.

"I'm going to assume you'll beat yourself up appropriately for this," Demi says, glaring. "Or at least the fear of Taylor Swift will be painful enough for my services to not be required."

Joe lets out a breath, feeling relieved as he watches Demi walk off with a cart full of books.

"This isn't over yet," Demi calls back, and Joe really, really hopes it's just the shock talking. Demi can't stand Taylor any more than he can.

He switches his phone on again, and finds it pretty astonishing that he has no raging lunatic-type messages from Taylor. That's kind of her style, letting it all out before she has a chance to cool off and think.

So, okay. No more Taylor for him. School starts in three days and he probably won't have a chance to have a civilized talk with Taylor before then. That means he'll have an angry ex-girlfriend to face during football practice, since Taylor also takes the whole cheerleader thing seriously despite how much she actually hates cheering. There's clearly nothing better for team morale than a cheerleader hating on the quarterback, the sport and the art of human pyramids.

On the bright side, at least he can drown his sorrows in cheap beer at Henrie's summer's-over-fuck-this-shit party tonight.


	2. Demi

Demi tells Selena about Joe's break-up as an afterthought, because it's not really something that affects Selena.

Selena doesn't seem to agree. She lifts her mouth from her cappuccino, quickly licking the foam off her upper lip with practiced ease, and says, "So that means Nick is next, right?"

Demi frowns. "No," she says. There's zero logic in it. "Why would he be?"

"Well, they're brothers. They follow patterns. Nick totally looks up to Joe."

"That doesn't mean he's going to dump his girlfriend because Joe did."

Selena sighs and takes a sip of her coffee. The house is awfully quiet considering Demi's sisters are home, but so is her mom, so it's nothing Demi needs to worry about. Demi's sole responsibility right now is vanquishing the remaining six chocolate-chip cookies on her plate, and talking Selena out of her scorned-woman logic.

"But Miley and Taylor, they're both annoying. That's common ground."

"Sel," Demi says determinedly, "the only thing Nick and Joe have in common is their DNA and a fair share of utter idiocy. Neither of which really has a hand in their relationships."

Selena doesn't look convinced.

"That's something to be thankful for," Demi adds.

Selena lets out a long sigh and looks at her coffee. "Right. Yeah. Sorry I keep dumping this crap on you."

"It's okay," Demi says, "it lets me practice my debating skills," and then an unopened packet of Starbucks brown sugar flies into her latte, splattering vanilla milk all over her blue shirt. "Awesome," Demi says, and Selena laughs; Demi wonders if she should go change or worry about it later. She settles on just taking it off—the weather's warm, and she's still wearing a bikini top underneath.

"I aim to please," Selena calls after her as Demi takes the shirt to the laundry room.

*

If there's one thing Demi is resolutely _not_ looking for in high school, that's outs.

She's not _ashamed_ or anything. She's sixteen years old; she can think for herself, and she doesn't see why she should hate herself for something that happens _naturally_ and doesn't harm anybody. She just doesn't think everyone in school can do the same thing, the thinking reasonably thing, and she's happy to be that girl who's minion to no one and has no minions of her own, but still gets invited to parties.

It's only two more years till college, anyway, and she has her friends and her music and her classes to keep her occupied. Selena's been having her own relationship trouble, too, and that alone would be enough to make Demi wary of getting involved with anyone her age.

"I just don't get what he sees in that—that _tramp_ ," Selena says, sinking into the corner Demi's bed forms with her dresser.

"Did you just call Miley Cyrus promiscuous? I thought she had a reputation for the opposite," Demi points out. "All look and don't touch."

"Thanks, _friend_ ," Selena spits out. "What a remarkably useful observation."

Demi gets Selena's hate, she does. Except she doesn't, because Nick—well, there's more than one reason Demi has trouble understanding what Selena sees in him, but—Nick is kind of... focused. In a pretty scary way. He has all these plans, and he's known Selena forever. But just because Selena knows Nick once ate a cockroach on a dare in the third grade, just because they have a past, it doesn't mean any of it is relationship fuel.

Then again, maybe Demi just doesn't understand because the closest thing to Selena's friendship with Nick Demi has is her own friendship with Selena, and they're like sisters, and that's not what Selena wants Nick and her to be.

"He seems happy with her," Demi says quietly.

Selena opens her mouth in outrage. "What— How— Whose side are you _on_ here?"

"Yours, of course," Demi says quickly. "I'm just saying, you're _friends_. He's—he cares about you. You guys are great, great friends. It just seems—" Demi pauses, picking her words carefully. "It seems _imprudent_ to let go of that because he's dating someone you don't like. Or who isn't you. Don't you want to keep being great friends?"

Selena huffs. "Not when I have to watch that _tramp_ groping his ass all the time. He brought her along to our weekly _rollerskating date_ , Demi." _Whoa, intense_ , Demi thinks. "And I don't even mean date. I mean appointment. Meeting of the like-minded, whatever. That's _our_ thing, not _hers_."

"It, uh," Demi begins, "doesn't necessarily mean she's trying to invade your territory. He took her there, right? Maybe he just wants you guys to get along."

Selena scowls at her.

The supportive friend thing to do is tell Selena to come clean to Nick about her feelings for him, Demi believes. She doesn't have a lot of experience giving advice, because she mostly hangs out with Selena at school, and with Joe Jonas and his friends after her shift at the Barnes & Noble downtown, and Joe and his friends aren't really the type to ask for advice. And she likes Joe a lot, she really does, but she's never understood his family, and Nick is no exception.

Besides, she has her own hate-on for Joe's ex-girlfriend, and Demi hates letting her own personal experience get in the way of being objective. She's pretty sure whatever it is about Miley that Selena can't stand, it has nothing to do with Demi's issues with Taylor Swift.

For one thing, Taylor has _witch_ nails, all sharp and pointy, while Miley keeps hers matte and blunt.

"I think it means we've hit a roadblock when you have personal things interfering with your ability to give impartial advice," Selena says, sounding kind of sad, and Demi looks up, eyes wide. It's always seriously weird when Selena knows what she's thinking.

"Yeah," Demi sighs.

"Laser tag and ice cream?" Selena suggests, perking up.

"Sounds like a plan."

*

When school starts up, Demi starts feeling guilty about Taylor and Joe's break-up. Because, like, it's not Demi's _fault_ Taylor turned out to be all clingy and insufferable like Demi anticipated, but it still feels a little like Demi jinxed it.

Joe seems happy to be rid of Taylor, but Taylor looks like a truck ran her over the first day of school, and Demi's of the firm opinion that you're not supposed to look like a truck ran you over the first day of school unless you're purposely trying to cultivate some nice emo-kid reputation.

Demi notices Taylor at the front-door steps, first. Then she sees her at her locker on Demi's way to Calculus, and they cross paths a couple more times through the day. It's a small private school, so that's to be expected, and Taylor doesn't acknowledge her, which means Taylor's either pretending she ever even _looked_ at Joe Jonas, or Demi's just not registering on her radar.

Last period, though, Demi finds Taylor in her AP English class.

Taylor looks all alone in this class. It seems obvious when Demi thinks about it; Taylor's friends aren't really the type to go for AP classes. They're more the kind to go under the bleachers and get a disease. And Demi's horrible for thinking that, she _knows_ that, but she can't help it. Taylor's thrown Demi a myriad of horrible looks for no reason, and Demi resents it.

Taylor's sitting all by herself in the second row of desks, fumbling with her pen over a notebook that looks normal except for the flashes of pink coming from the inside of the covers. Demi feels guilty, and a part of her really wants to make amends, so she takes the desk next to Taylor.

"Oh, it's you," Taylor says flatly when she notices.

Demi attempts a half smile. "You seem a little out of place in this class. Did you get lost on the way to Home Ec?" she asks, inertia taking over her tone. Crap. And she was trying to be nice— _yeah right_ , she chides herself—and now even her brain is making fun of the situation. Great.

Taylor rolls her eyes, but instead of an offensive comeback, what comes out of her mouth is a simple, "No," that doesn't seem to carry any imprecations towards Demi's person.

Demi feels vaguely relieved. Maybe it really isn't her fault at all. She thinks Taylor would be a little more hurtful towards a girl who killed her relationship with Joe. Demi's pretty sure in Taylor's world, a third-row cheerleader dating the football quarterback is a Big Deal. In a crazy good way, too, if you're that third-row cheerleader.

Demi doesn't try any harder.

Halfway through the next class, though, Taylor tosses a folded piece of paper at her. It reads, in perfectly calibrated handwriting, _Were you there when he called me? I bet you guys had a great laugh at my expense. I bet you timed it and everything._

Demi can't say she wasn't there, but she can say there were no stopwatches involved.

 _Right_ , Taylor's note back says. _Whatever_.

Well, hey.

Whatever it is, then.

*

Demi probably shouldn't have expected Taylor Swift of all people to take the high road and move on.

Joe's reputation is not something that overly worries Demi. Joe's reputation isn't something that overly worries _Joe_ , or that even seems to register as a thing in his brain, so why should Demi care? Selena's friend Jenn always asks Demi about it when they run out of conversation waiting for Selena to get out of drama class—they all live on the same street, so they carpool to and from school in either Demi's or Jennifer's car, and today Demi's driving.

She's about to tell Jenn how Joe saved a three-legged puppy from drowning in a park fountain back in July when Jenn unusually adds something to her question.

"Isn't it embarrassing to be associated with him?" she says first, which is totally normal. Then, "I mean, what with what people are saying about his..." Jenn blushes. "About his thingy."

Demi stifles a snort. "What are you talking about?"

"Didn't you hear?" Jenn asks. It makes Demi wish she and Selena lived in the same neighborhood as someone else, like David Henrie—he's a cool kid, he's been dropping by B&N a lot lately, plus he takes Drama, and Selena really seems to get along with him. In contrast with Jenn, even Miley Cyrus would annoy Demi less. At least Miley acts stupid on purpose, so Demi's hate of her remains guilt-free. "They say Taylor wouldn't sleep with him because he has an STI."

Demi blinks. "Seriously?" Jenn nods.

Demi's pretty sure she'd know if that were true. Like, Joe's friends are not the kind to keep their mouths shut about it, and Joe's not the kind of person who can keep a secret about himself.

"What kind of STI?" Demi asks, raising her eyebrows. "Are we talking chronic disease, a burning feeling when you pee, what?" She knows she's making Jenn uncomfortable, but as much as Demi does not care about Joe's reputation, there are things she can't let pass.

"I don't know," Jenn says, fidgeting with the leftover ends of the straps on her backpack. "I just heard the STI part."

"Okay, Jennifer, about rumors: if it were true, you'd know the name of it."

"But it was Taylor who told the cheerleaders," Jenn points out, and Demi has to laugh. "What?"

"Taylor's a... really strange person," Demi says. "She probably got into another fight with him at lunch and was trying to be hurtful, but couldn't find it in her to really cause him pain, so: half rumor."

"You think?"

"Okay, uh, take the message, not the form: I don't think, I _know_."

"Oh," Jenn says.

"Yeah."

"So he's not contagious?"

Demi resists the urge to hit her head on the trash can next to the bench.

*

Demi still asks Joe, though, because if she's going to have to set the record straight, she'd rather make sure she's doing it for the right reasons.

"What did you do?" is the accusation she opens with.

"Hey, Demi, hi, how's it going to you too," Joe says, not looking back from the books he's sorting on a cart. This doesn't bode well.

"What did you do to Taylor, Jonas?" Demi elaborates.

"Nothing," Joe squeaks, turning around. "I swear. She's just jealous."

Demi's eyes widen. "Oh, no, you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Break mourning period? Find a rebound?"

"I didn't—okay, yeah, I did, in Taylor's eyes, but I didn't," Joe says, real fast. "She was just, she was so hot, Demi, _you_ would have slept with her."

"You _had sex_ with her?" Demi grunts out. "Are you dumb?"

"She was hot! She kept refilling my drink."

"So you slept with her? With who?"

"I did not sleep with her. Camilla. Waitress." Demi glares at him. "I didn't!"

"You just said you did."

"I just said Taylor thinks I did. Somehow, I don't know, that girl has a stalking problem. Cam just drove me home. I was wasted, okay? I'm the innocent bystander in this situation."

Demi groans and hits him with a book. "That's great, Jonas. Now tell that to the hundred kids at school who think you're marred by the syph."

The thing is, Joe really doesn't care. He can't get kicked off the team for something like this, and most of the kids at school are suck-ups and thus terrified to make fun of their god. Joe will just walk right through this, like he walks right through everything else.

"Seriously, though, you should have seen her last night."

"I'm sorry, I don't share your 'taste' in women," Demi says in a derogatory tone as she turns around.

"You can't call someone ugly just because they're not your type," he says thoughtfully. It's weird, hearing him say something like he means it. Usually even the things he means sound like he pulled them out of his ass while high on morphine and Twinkies.

"What type?" Demi asks, wary. "I don't have a type."

"Yeah, you do. Blonde and perky and cheerlead-y," he mocks. "I've seen you watch Chelsea get her daily coffee every afternoon this month."

"That's ridiculous," Demi says, because it is. "It just makes me happy to see someone that skinny order something so fattening. I'm scared she's going to go on a diet and order water if I let her out of my sight for a minute."

"That's weird," Joe says, but quickly recovers. "But okay. But, my friend, I've also seen the way you look at Meaghan Jette when she lurks in the music aisle. You get all bug-eyed and bat your eyelashes even though she's not looking at you—and has a boyfriend—and you set entire rows of books upside down because you can't draw your eyes away from her. And what could you possibly be keeping her safe from, Madonna's unauthorized biographies? And man, I swear, it wasn't for how annoyed you looked every time you saw Taylor, I would have thought you just hated her because you wanted her for yourself."

Something bizarre shoots down Demi's spine. She carefully recognizes the feeling as nerve-numbing fright. Not because of Taylor, because, no, she really wanted to punch her in the face, period, but Meaghan? How does Joe know about that?

"That's crap, Jonas, and you know it," she says, laughing and shaking her head, but Joe looks at her like he's seen something new, something to add to his little study.

"Whatever you say, Demetria. But I know what I've seen. Blonde and perky and irritating, you like them. I bet you like to think about shutting them up with your mouth. All that bickering and sarcasm when you sell them books—is that your sexually repressed heart acting out? I can't imagine. I bet at least a couple of them would let you make out with them if the store was playing Katy Perry on a loop," he suggests.

She opens her mouth in outrage, about to say something, but this is so ridiculous that it doesn't even deserve the effort. So she just makes up an excuse about her beeper silently beeping and... walks steadily off.

Let Joe Jonas think what he will.

*

It's not fair of Joe, putting thoughts in Demi's head like that. Demi doesn't get crushes, okay? It's a life goal. Don't crush on unattainable, brainless people. All the hot girls at school are that kind, so she doesn't get crushes. Except Meaghan, but Meaghan devours entire books about Jefferson Airplane and Led Zeppelin when she thinks no one's looking, so Demi allows herself the exception of maybe possibly fantasizing about what it would be like to strike up a conversation about it with her.

Of course, in the real world, Meaghan would probably splutter out some excuse about being in the wrong section or hold the book like it's trash and go, "I don't even know who this guy is, you freak," and Demi's not the biggest fan of confrontations with popular girls. She likes the balance she's struck between having her presence acknowledged by everyone yet not being actively cared about. She doesn't want to risk that.

"Are you lusting after—TS?" Selena whispers into her ear at lunch.

Demi jumps. Crap. "I am not."

"It's okay," Selena says. "I've bothered you so much with the Nick thing lately, you deserve to talk my ear off about your own crush."

"I don't have a crush on her." _Yet_ , her mind supplies.

"I hate to break it to you, but the last time I saw that look on your face, you were watching the prayer number with the villainous girlfriend on Glee."

"I feel watched," Demi says. "You guys are pushing me towards my ruin."

"Just because she's straight doesn't mean you can't perv a little," Selena says. "And who's us guys?"

"You and Joe."

"I knew it," Selena says, looking smug. "I knew he couldn't be stupid enough not to notice you looking at," Selena pauses for a second, "MJM. Sorry, forgot half her last name there. It's hard to talk in acronyms, you know. I thought that kind of girl talk would be over after middle school."

Demi throws a cold French fry at Selena. "You idiot," she says, and Selena throws a piece of lettuce back.

"Sometimes talking to you feels a lot like being in the CIA or something," Selena says. "I think you should just let me use their full first names. It's not like anyone's going to catch the entire conversation. They'll just think you're talking trash about them."

"Why would I be— oh," Demi says. Right. Her 'type.' Her type is the type that people gossip about, not that Demi pays attention. She has no legitimate interest in them—she's pretty sure every last one of them would stop seeming attractive to her the second she knew what they're like. Or what they're not like, as the case may be. "Doesn't work for me."

Selena shrugs and bites into a fry. "Worth a try."


	3. Taylor

Taylor's not sure why Demi Lovato keeps sitting next to her in AP English.

As far as she knows, she hasn't done anything to cause that sort of obsessive behavior. She's sensible enough to assume Joe wouldn't have asked anybody, let alone his best friend, to keep an eye on his ex-girlfriend, and she wasn't blinded enough with love when she hung out with Joe to think Demi's opinion of her was anything higher than 'tolerable,' so this whole thing is just weird.

Then again, Demi herself is kind of a freak. Maybe she does this with all of Joe's ex-girlfriends. If Taylor hadn't been too jealous to get a good impression of them when she was dating him, she might know for sure. Either way, it could also be a new thing. Taylor was kind of a new thing for Joe, and new things require new strategies.

Or maybe Demi is acting on Joe's orders: lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to leap out and kill the psycho ex who spread ridiculous rumors about Joe's private bits.

Taylor's not quite sure which one of those is the worst-case scenario, but she's willing to rein in her demented suspicions and not find out.

Besides, Demi's kind of—musically inclined? Taylor had a long conversation with their English teacher and the school guidance counselor at the beginning of the semester, and they agreed that she could flesh out as much as a third of the essays he assigned the class into song lyrics. And sometimes they turn out well, and he asks her to read them out loud—sing them, actually, but it feels too weird to sing without her guitar. Sing a cappella in front of a dozen people? That's like, a who-does-she-think-she-is level of bad idea. Maybe she fails at not giving them any musical rhythm, but Demi nods her head along and taps her fingers absently on her desk and looks enthralled despite herself, and that's actually kind of nice. Companionable.

Not that Demi sitting up front counts as company, but still. It could be worse. Demi could nod along on purpose, mockingly, and that would be horribly embarrassing—her stomach tightens at the thought of it—and so much more awful than the whole sitting-close-enough-to-you-to-talk-but-not-actually-talking-because-the-Joe-debacle-is-still-recent-for-both-of-us-and-wouldn't-that-be-awkward-and-anyway-why-would-I-want-to-make-an-effort-to-break-the-ice-in-the-first-place thing Demi's got going on. This isn't bad; it's just confusing.

It goes on like that for a couple of weeks, until the weather abruptly leaps into a cold chill that has everyone wearing scarves and gives Taylor an excuse to finally wear the peacoat she unearthed in her grandmother's basement.

On Thursdays, AP English is Taylor's last period, and she walks out of school around Demi—not _with_ her, just alongside. She fishes in her bag for her gloves before they reach the front door, and Demi snickers.

"Are those Miss Piggy gloves?"

Taylor looks around slowly. It's not crazy to be wary of Demi saying that. High school has been pretty okay, but all those middle school days where she was mocked mercilessly for choosing to dress like she _wanted to_ are deeply burned in her mind.

Demi's face is soft, though, amused but not derisive, and Taylor allows herself to smile back.

"Do you really need me to answer that?" she says, gesturing towards her hands as she slips the gloves on. Before she can help herself, she adds, "Are they too ridiculous?"

"No, they're cool," Demi says. "Well, not _cool_ , but they're okay. I'm pretty sure Selena has a scarf that'd go with them."

Taylor breathes a little easier. "The scarves were sold out when I got these," she confesses.

There's a short silence as they walk out of the building and down the steps, and Demi falls into step with Taylor. Then, Demi says, "Would you wear it?"

"What?"

"A matching scarf?"

Taylor feels the corners of her mouth push upward; she doesn't smile, but it's a close thing. "Yeah," she says, "yeah, I'm pretty sure I would," and bites her lip self-consciously.

"I'll steal it for you," Demi says, and winks at her. "Well, I'll trade it for something. If I stole it, Selena would find it and take it back."

"Also, stealing is bad," Taylor points out, tilting her head and failing to sound or look serious, and Demi lets out a surprised laugh.

Soon enough, they reach the parking lot; Abigail waves at Taylor from her car, and Taylor waves back, gesturing subtly toward Demi so Abigail knows to wait a couple of minutes for her. Demi's car is on the way to Abigail's, so Taylor has to walk in the same direction anyway.

"You should bring your guitar sometime," Demi says conversationally as she unlocks her car door. "You write songs, you shouldn't have to read them."

"Uh, it's an English class," Taylor says. "It's not the place for it."

"No, I mean," Demi says, looking vaguely confused herself, "to school. I'd like to hear one of those songs the way they sound for you. I heard you sing a couple of times, at work. When you were still with Joe? And you were good."

Taylor nods; in retrospect, she could have said _Thanks_ , or _I'll think about it_ , but she just stands there, a little shell-shocked by Demi's interest, as Demi gets into her car. She snaps out of it when Demi rolls her window down.

"'I'll see you tomorrow," Demi says, and Taylor nods and gets out of the way.

Abigail gives her a weird look when Taylor slips into the passenger seat. "I thought we were at war with Joe Jonas."

"I wouldn't call it at _war_ ," Taylor says.

"Good," Abigail says, "because it looked remarkably to me like you were winning over his right hand to use it to strike against him, and that's taking your broken heart a little too far, I'm sorry to say."

"I'm not using anyone to do anything," Taylor says. "Demi and I share a class. She's not that bad. She said she wants to hear me sing."

Abigail turns to look at her; Taylor's glad she didn't wait to tell her about this until they were on the road. "Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah. I think so," Taylor says.

Abigail looks convinced, and drops the subject.

*

Two songs into her three-song set at the weekly Wednesday night open-mike at Osment's, Emily's mom's café, Taylor spots Demi sitting on a stool at the bar, looking right at her.

It's—it's totally normal that Demi's looking at her, because Taylor's _performing_ , and when someone's performing, they kind of have the spotlight. Eyes are drawn to them and all that; that's the whole point of having a designated space for people to sing.

Taylor looks away before their eyes meet and messes up a line, but it's an original song, which means probably no one notices. She's played it here before, and at a couple of other bars, but it's not like anyone could have been listening to it at home enough times to learn the lyrics.

The bridge comes out just right, at least, and that lets Taylor relax enough to get through her third song smoothly. It's a slow one, and she closes her eyes before the last verse. When she opens them again, after the last chord, a lot more people are paying attention to her than before, and she smiles a little. Sure, it's a small café, and it isn't exactly packed, but someone claps and then several people are clapping as Taylor gets off the stage, and when Taylor has the presence of mind to look at Demi, Demi's fingers are clicked together like she's considering it too, like she's not sure she should.

Taylor leaves her guitar by the speakers and wanders down to her.

"Hey," Taylor says. "What are you doing here?"

"Your friend Abigail told me you'd be here," Demi says easily, like it's completely standard that Abigail would tell someone at school where Taylor's performing. It must look that way to Demi, so Taylor doesn't say anything, but she makes a mental note to _borrow_ Abigail's phone later, and hide it until Abigail admits she should have run this by Taylor. "You don't want me here," Demi assumes from Taylor's silence. She doesn't look offended. Her mouth's curved, amused.

"No," Taylor squeals. "I mean, no. It's fine. Obviously it's fine, you have a right to go wherever you want. If it was a concern, I wouldn't perform in public." She takes a deep breath. "I just would've liked some advance notice. But that's not your fault."

"Don't kill Abigail because of me," Demi says. Taylor takes the stool next to her. "I guessed you might not be thrilled to see me or you would have told me yourself, and I came anyway." Demi waits for Taylor to say something, but nothing comes to mind, so she goes on, "But I'm glad I did. You're good."

"Thanks," Taylor says, ducking her head. The waiter comes by, and she orders a coffee.

"Is it okay if I seek you out more often?" Demi asks. Taylor frowns. "I mean, not that I can really seek you out, plus that would be creepy. But I'd like to see you play again, if you want to point me in the direction of that sometime. Again."

Taylor offers a short nod—Demi being nice to her isn't a shock exactly, but it's hard to assimilate, and Taylor's not sure yet if Demi's trustworthy. Demi's never really done anything to hint at the contrary, but for the longest time Taylor was convinced Demi hated her, and her having a change of heart without Taylor proving herself in any way is—unexpected. Nice, but unexpected.

"Would it be awful if I asked you how's Joe?"

"Not at all," Demi says easily, "he's a dick. Or, he's being a dick, I'm never sure. I love him, he's one of my best friends, but I really thought he'd be happier without you. No offense."

Taylor would say _none taken_ , but it would be a lie. "He's not? Happier without me, I mean."

Demi pauses and turns to look Taylor in the eye. "Taylor, listen to me. You don't want to go back to that boy. He doesn't need you, you don't need him, and I don't need the drama."

"I wasn't suggesting—you just implied I was making him miserable."

"Because you were," Demi says, shrugging. "And it was making you miserable, and you guys were making me miserable. It needed to stop."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said." Demi sighs and sets her elbow on the bar, cheek going to rest on her open palm. "He _is_ actually happier. He's just showing it really weirdly. Also, I really wanted you to know I'm not hanging out with you on behalf of him or anything because really, the less we talk about Joe, the better. I really hate the idea of him muddying all of—" She trails off, which is probably for the best; Taylor has no idea what Demi's talking about anymore. "Anyway," Demi says, "I'd really love to hear you play again."

The look on Demi's face is soft now, curious, and Taylor finds herself stuck in it for a second, biting her lip as she watches Demi's eyes flicker over her face. Before, when she was with Joe, Demi used to look at her with a skeptical hatred that was plain to see, but Taylor hasn't paid attention to the way Demi looked at her since then, and this is—this is _strange_. Taylor can't remember anyone ever looking at her like this. She can't remember ever looking at someone like this. It's so focused. She never pegged Demi Lovato for someone who could focus on other people like this.

It makes her feel self-conscious enough that she can't say yes.

Still, she can say, "Yeah," biting her lip, "yeah, maybe," and a few days later, she can tell Demi she booked a spot at a club, and a few days after that she can give her a flyer for another open mike night she's going to, and agree to drive there together.

And one of those times, she looks up to see Demi smiling at her, and she realizes they're kind of actually _friends_.


	4. Miley

Taylor Swift barely even _made_ the cheer squad this year. She used to be cool, Miley thinks, but then she started going everywhere with that notebook and disregarding her cheer duties and just, she's not that good anymore, so she's third row. Miley wanted to assemble a good team in her first year as captain, but Taylor's been in the squad since she was a freshman and it's her senior year now and anyway, Joe _broke up_ with her, and that story was heartbreaking. Miley could only begrudgingly imagine what it must be like to be dumped by a Jonas brother, so she took pity on Taylor and let her in, even if she was relegated to third row.

But then Taylor spread those horrible rumors about Joe, and Miley was _so embarrassed_ when she told Nick and Nick laughed like it was ridiculous and what, had Miley _really_ thought Joe could've gotten tested and turned up positive on something like _an STI_ without the family knowing? Joe is so not the smart one in the house, that's Nick. So she began to wonder what Taylor's goal was anyway. The Jonases have always been super nice to Miley, and Miley has no reason to believe Joe is really that bad.

Except then Joe decides his big senior thing is going to be cheerleader bingo, and Miley wants to smack him across the head and hug Taylor real tight, because, heck, poor girl. She holds the urge in, because it would set a precedent for other cheerleaders to go to Miley for counseling, and it's not like Miley can hang a flyer on her locker explaining that her services are only available for girls who've been with a Jonas for at least three weeks—that seems unnecessarily cliquish and mean.

Not that Miley usually cares much about coming off as cliquish and mean, but a heartbreak club is just not the kind of clique she wants to be associated with. Nick would think it was stupid, anyway. Nick would _tell_ Miley that, and Miley would be torn between taking the words at face value or believing Nick thought her joining an army of scorned women was stupid because he would never dump her. Miley really hates that whole mixed signals business when it comes from someone other than herself.

So anyway, she's not comforting Taylor as cheer captain, but she might be able to do so as a friend. Also to make sure she's not hung up on Joe enough to let him cross her off his card.

"Is this a joke?" Taylor asks when Miley drives them and stops the engine just past the Barnes & Noble Joe works at.

"We're getting you over that boy," Miley says.

"Why?"

"Because! You can't just sulk your entire senior year away. It's time to face your demons," Miley says, and gets out of the car.

"I don't want to make a scene," Taylor says, even as she's walking onto the sidewalk, Miley holding the door for her. "Or even _talk_ to him. Or see him."

"You see him every day at school," Miley says as they walk into the Starbucks within the store. "It's unavoidable, so you might as well get used to it. There are douchebags in life, Taylor, and you must learn to live with them sneaking round the sidelines and just... ignore them."

"Right," Taylor says, unconvinced.

"Exactly," Miley says with a lot more energy, and pushes her towards the line. It's just three people before them, so at least Miley won't have to stand on her heels for much longer. They look good, but her feet are starting to hurt.

Taylor doesn't look around for a while, just waits in line and hums softly to the quiet wave of music coming from the store proper, and taps her fingers on her thigh. She doesn't look _nervous_ , but she doesn't look all that chill, either.

Then Taylor waves at someone across the store, the shade of an expectant smile covering her features, and Miley thinks it's Joe, at first, except why would Taylor look at him like that, she should be furious. That's why Miley brought the stilettos.

But it's not Joe. It's Demi Lovato.

Now, Miley doesn't have anything against Demi Lovato. Demi's quiet, nice as long as you don't offend her or her friends (friend, actually: as long as Miley can remember Demi's only ever gotten her claws out for Selena Gomez, while Selena's defended at least a dozen people since she grew into her teeth), doesn't overstep her position, mostly keeps to herself. Miley respects her, even if Demi's in orchestra and the only times she's ever showed any interest in cheering and football were all about supporting Joe. Not that the team itself and the cheer squad have any trouble keeping his ego and game afloat. Joe never looks at Demi like he wants to bang her, anyway, so it's not like his game significantly improves when Demi shows up to support him. Miley kind of wishes Taylor and him had stayed together just to see if he'd give more of himself for the sake of showing off.

The point is, Demi's pretty much irrelevant to her, but Miley doesn't think there's anything wrong with her. Different strokes, is all.

This, though? This is freaking her out. Taylor looks kinda like what Kevin Jonas's girlfriend looks like when she looks at him, and Miley's not sure what that means. It's always creeped her out a little, that she couldn't read Kevin's girlfriend's expressions. They're not normal girlfriend expressions like when you're really attracted to somebody and you can't stop thinking about taking them to bed, or the backseat of his car or whatever. Besides, Demi's a girl, so that obviously can't be it. They're more like when you're thirteen and want to, like, hold his hand, and maybe peck him on the cheek because you're scared you're going to kiss him wrong.

Maybe Danielle's so sheltered and into Jesus that she's celibate even in her thoughts. That would make a lot of sense, unlike Taylor's expression, which is the least clear thing Miley's ever seen. Except when Demi notices her and waves back, Taylor's smile widens into normalcy, and her gesture is not so much strange as just plain unreadable.

But oh, _oh wait_. Joe's sticking discount tags on books just behind Demi. Okay, wow, that was close to driving Miley's curiosity insane.

Of course, doing what she's doing here, she can't have Taylor looking at Joe like there are still some sneaky feelings in her lonely heart.

"Oh my God, stop looking at him," she says as they advance on the line. Just one person left, and Miley can have her delicious vanilla chai.

"Him who?" Taylor says, pretending to look again and back to Miley like she doesn't know what Miley's talking about. "I hadn't even seen him there."

"Right. Like you weren't looking at him like you wanted to _kiss_ him? Please. I'm not an idiot."

Taylor narrows her eyes in confusion, but then she looks normal again, thank God. Miley was getting tired of the pantomime. "It's hard sometimes," Taylor confesses.

Miley nods her head in full agreement. "I know. But if anything else fails, remember this: Chelsea sucked him off in the team showers last Thursday. He doesn't deserve you."

Taylor's eyes widen, and then it's their turn to order, and the whole afternoon goes pretty well, in Miley's opinion. Joe appears in their line of vision a couple of times, even comes by to say hi once, and Taylor's the picture of composure, which is what Miley was trying to get her to do, feel like she was way better than him, even though Miley has no idea if she is. Probably not. But success is delicious, and she treats herself to a peach Danish as a reward.

Doing good feels _awesome_.


	5. Taylor

Taylor's a little offbeat, and she knows it, and she means it as a compliment to herself and/or whoever else she may apply the word to. It would be such a boring world if all she could ever wear were hoodies and jeans. Sometimes she wishes she could keep the green denim cut-offs on to go to school, or wear a tiara just because she felt like it.

Things don't work that way, though, obviously, even if Taylor believes everyone would benefit from wearing unusually pretty things or dressing up as people whose qualities you aspire to have without the fear of ridicule overtaking their hearts the minute they set foot on the street. But it's not such a big deal to pick up a pair of oversized Mickey Mouse sunglasses and wear them for two hours around the local mall when you're walking next to someone who's wearing a jester hat with bells.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Demi says, and Taylor grins.

"I didn't talk you into anything," she says. "But thanks," she adds quickly, quietly. "Because, seriously, if Joe's not embarrassed about being an asshole, why should I feel guilty about enjoying Disney merchandise, right?"

"He's not that bad," Demi says.

"I know," Taylor says, acting on a reconciliatory impulse. "I mean, I don't know. The cheer bingo thing is really douchey."

Demi looks like she wishes she could disagree. Taylor wishes she could, too; she wishes she didn't even know about Joe's cheer bingo thing, but it's an open secret. Actually, it's not much of a secret at all. Even though it should be.

"But I'm not mad at him for dumping me. I should've seen it coming. We were driving each other crazy. And not in a good way. I think a part of me was just mad he beat me to it."

"You're better off without a boyfriend, anyway," Demi says. "You seem a lot happier now than you did during, like, over half of your relationship."

Taylor smiles, because it's sad, but it's true. She'd known Joe for a while when they started dating, but not very well—they met in church when they were kids and their parents were close-ish friends for a while. Joe and Taylor were similar ages, so they spent time together when their parents went over to each other's places for dinner. They kinda drove each other insane even then. When Taylor came back to town for high school, she didn't even try to rekindle that friendship or anything, because it hadn't been much of one.

But then she liked the mochas at his Barnes & Noble, and school was over and there was only so much of her brother she could take on a regular basis, so she started hanging out at the Starbucks there, sitting at the table next to the nearest bookshelves. That was fun; Joe got bored a lot on cart duty and he started flirting with her while he sorted books on his cart. Taylor had noticed him on the football field all year—how he seemed to have grown into his looks, how good his new haircut looked. When he asked her out, the reasons to say yes way outweighed the reasons to say no. She probably didn't even have any of the latter.

It's taken her this long to accept it, but now there's no doubt in her mind that they weren't meant to be. Their relationship only really worked for like, two weeks. She's pretty sure he let the relationship go on as long as he did just because he didn't want to hurt her, which would be sweet if he hadn't hooked up with Nicole _and_ both the Michalka sisters (separately) in the last two weeks.

"I'm not even jealous anymore," Taylor realizes. "Like, I'm a little repulsed, but I'm not jealous."

"You know he's not actually having sex with them, right?" Demi says, guarded. Taylor thinks it's because Demi doesn't buy her being over Joe and doesn't want her to get the wrong idea, which is nice of her. "I think he slept with Chelsea, but the rest of them wouldn't actually—they're your friends. Sort of."

"He's a really good kisser," Taylor mentions. "I guess it's good he's letting them enjoy that part of him without inflicting all his issues upon them." That gets her a laugh from Demi, a laugh that gives way to a toothy grin, and a warm feeling settles in Taylor's stomach, something new she stores away.

Sometimes it's weird, being Demi's friend. Taylor knows there are vital parts of Demi she's missing, things Demi hasn't shared with Taylor, and she gets that; she understands not opening yourself up to someone you just met, or someone you used to hate. Taylor never disliked Demi, she was just—wary of her, hanging around Joe all day long.

But Demi has something of a shield around her all the time, like Taylor sometimes even has trouble thinking of her as a _friend_ because yeah, they go shopping, and they talk about school, and boys. Sometimes Demi gives Taylor advice on her lyrics or shows her some of her poetry, even if Taylor doesn't understand any of it, and that's good. But at the same time it's like there's this _distance_ between them, something Taylor can't quite put a name to but that stretches between them and keeps them from really connecting. Taylor can't quite shake it, either: she feels it when Demi raises her eyebrows at an offhand remark Taylor makes about an ex-boyfriend, and she feels it when Demi looks at a girl for a long time and doesn't answer honestly when Taylor asks about her.

Taylor hates that. Taylor hates that because she _knows_ , she just knows Selena's in on all of this. Okay, Taylor has Abigail, too, and she doesn't share everything with Demi either. But, if Demi likes a girl, Taylor wants to hear about it. Demi liking girls is an even worse-kept secret than Joe's cheer bingo crap, it's not like Taylor didn't know about it.

But mostly Demi's cool.

"Man, I really didn't need to know that about Joe," Demi adds as an afterthought, after laughing, and stretches her mouth in disgust.

 _Guess you don't reap what you sow,_ Taylor thinks. "Sorry," she says out loud.

"You don't look sorry," Demi says, grinning, "but I'll accept the apology."

Taylor tries to smile, but it only holds for a split second, so she pokes Demi's hat until grinning feels more real, and forgets it didn't before.

*

Demi has a free period just before last on Wednesdays, and it actually takes Taylor a while to realize two things: a) Selena doesn't, and b) Taylor goes home around that time, because both her last periods are free that day.

It's the kind of thing she should plan out, but really, it doesn't take very long to throw her guitar in the back of Abigail's car when they drive to school, and if Demi's busy or whatever, Taylor can just go home.

She doesn't go home.

She catches up with Demi near the cafeteria, and asks her if she's doing anything right now, and Demi says, "No?"—not like she's not sure she's doing anything, but like she's not sure why Taylor's asking, which is the best. Taylor loves surprises.

The parking lot is kind of busy: people having a second lunch and going over notes and Henrie smoking something behind his car that does not look like a cigarette—which would still be bad, but really, it's like he has an academic death wish.

"You're so glad you're not dating Joe anymore," Demi says cryptically when she follows Taylor's gaze.

Taylor takes her word for it.

"You brought your guitar?" Demi asks when Taylor retrieves it from Abigail's car.

"I did," Taylor says, smiling.

Demi grabs it from her hands, pulling it across her back. "Awesome. The football field's free right now, we should go there."

They end up sitting on the bleachers—the field is actually taken by the girls' soccer team, who make so much noise Taylor feels almost protected here, like all their racket is a cushion Taylor can blame for not trying to sound professional. It makes things informal, and all of Taylor's nerves about playing her songs for Demi alone dissipate instantly.

She tries a few assorted verses first, things she's been playing with lately, and Demi makes a few lyric suggestions and sings in a couple of times, and it's not at all as awkward as it sometimes is with her family, who just watch her and try to pretend they care, or as impossible as it is with Abigail, who starts parodying or drunk-yelling out her songs before she's even listened to them all the way through.

"I still want to hear the whole song for that second thing you played, the," Demi says, and hums out a couple of lines, and Taylor strums out the chorus, just to remind herself.

"Do you want to know who that one's about?" Taylor says conspiratorially. She wouldn't usually share these things; talking about cute boys is much, much less personal than putting a face to some of her songs. But a few days ago she found out from Jennifer Stone that Demi just doesn't let anyone read her poetry, and now Taylor feels bad for questioning what Demi was willing to talk about with her. Demi has different weak spots than Taylor does, and maybe admitting she was eying the brunette salesgirl when they went to buy shoes crosses whatever lines she has.

Also, to be truthful, Taylor likes the feeling of telling someone, the feeling of sharing a secret. She's always talked to cheerleaders for that, ever since she realized Abigail already knew everything and wasn't ever surprised. The thing is, Taylor's been wary of the cheer squad since Joe— well, since Joe _happened_ , and weirdly enough, Demi's stopped feeling like a connection to Joe. They also have more things in common than Taylor and anyone she's hung out with via Miley ever did. Or, that might not be true. But if they did have things in common, no one ever shared them with her.

The point is, she wants to tell Demi. It feels forbidden, in a way, and Taylor missed that.

"It's not Joe, is it?" Demi asks warily, and Taylor laughs.

"No, no. I wrote this one last year. He was a senior and we went on a couple of dates, but it didn't work out and—I've never told anyone I went out with him."

Demi seems a little weirded out by the promise of Taylor sharing a secret with her, but then her face turns considering and she smiles a little, lopsided smile, and Taylor gets to tell her after all.

And once she does, Demi steals her guitar.

"Hey," Taylor says, but doesn't attempt to get it back. Demi settles with it on her lap easily, and her fingers are steady on the frets and strings, plucking out a cute little rhythm that makes Taylor think of the fifties.

"You're not allowed to moon over a boy via song anymore," Demi says, "it's just embarrassing," and starts singing about an octopus and his lady friend. She loses track a lot, but she's actually pretty good at improv, and she looks so—so comfortable when she sings, so at ease in her own skin. Taylor thought Demi always looked that way, but this is different. This is relaxed and almost void of cynicism.

At one point, Demi strums out a little instrumental solo and looks up at Taylor, and looks up, and looks up, and Taylor finds herself looking back, so entranced at one point she can feel her heartbeat ringing in her chest, her cheeks color, her stomach tense.

Demi licks her lips, just the tip of her tongue peeking between them, and turns her attention back to singing and her guitar.

Taylor lets out a long breath, and is so thankful for the increased racket on the field that keeps Demi from hearing it.

It's nothing. It's just a weird charged moment, that's all. Sometimes music does that, even music with crazy lyrics made up on the spot.

"I think I lost my ride," Taylor says when they head back to the parking lot. It's fine—she can just take the bus.

"That's good news, because my next class was canceled," Demi says.

Taylor gapes at her. "It was? You should have said something, we could have gone somewhere—somewhere not at school."

"And miss the chance to see you sing like you're not being judged? God, no," Demi says. "Besides, the field right now—" She shrugs. "It's kind of a nice view."

Taylor slows her pace, which she realizes is totally obvious, but she can't help it. Demi just kind of admitted she went out of her way to—to look at the girls on the soccer team. Demi just kind of talked to Taylor about girls.

Taylor almost feels like she should thank her, but then the moment passes, and she doesn't.

"So anyway," Demi says, "if you need a ride, I can give you one?"

The drive home involves more off-key singing than Taylor thought she was capable of, and a conversation about why Taylor doesn't have a car to call her own. That, in turn, involves the very embarrassing story of how Taylor crashed the convertible she got for her sixteenth birthday and consequently her mom stopped trusting her behind a wheel.

When they get to Taylor's house, the passenger door gets stuck, and there's this really weird moment where Demi turns down the music and walks around the car to open Taylor's door from the outside. As she slips out, her shoulder brushes against Demi's arm, and there's a stretch of silence where Taylor doesn't realize she's staring at Demi's mouth until Demi opens it to speak.

"So," Demi says, and Taylor's eyes snap up.

Maybe it's that it's date-like, having someone open the door for her, or that Demi's—well, Taylor can't say she has a lot of experience hanging out with gay girls. At least not girls who don't make a real secret of being gay. Maybe Taylor's mistaking Demi's attention for something else. Maybe Taylor is—maybe she's being stupid. Maybe she's being ridiculous.

Demi steps back, and Taylor says, "So I'll see you in class," and Demi nods, but doesn't avoid her gaze.

Maybe that's it. Taylor likes the way Demi looks at her, and when she runs upstairs and looks in the mirror, she realizes there's a chance Taylor's been looking at Demi the same way.

It should be scarier. It should be terrifying. But it really isn't.


	6. Demi

Demi knows she's been distracted when Selena turns to her one night, in the middle of a _Good Wife_ marathon, bites her lip, and says, "So I kind of slept with Nick the other night. Four days ago. I've been meaning to tell you but it's kind of— Anyway, I kind of slept with him."

There's a stretch of time where Demi's face doesn't know where to settle—her eyes flicker from wide to blinking to narrowed, and the corner of her mouth keeps shifting upwards then back, variations on a moue of displeased bewilderment.

Of all the possible responses running through her head, the one she settles on is, "Kind of?"

"Kind of," Selena says. Her eyes are wide, like she still can't believe this, and her mouth is thin and undecided on whether this is a good or a bad thing. As it should be. "For a meaning of 'kind of' that means completely."

"Where the hell was I when that happened?"

Selena narrows her eyes. "I think you were home—ow!"

Demi lets go of Selena's forearm, which she just pinched. "No. What did we say about Nick?"

"We always say different things about him," Selena comments.

"No," Demi repeats, "no, we said you'd get over him. There were never any mentions of sleeping with him. Isn't he still dating Miley? He was holding her hand in the halls this morning!"

Selena makes an apologetic face, and Demi instantly feels bad. She has no idea what happened—something must have led up to that, and she completely missed it.

"I mean it, where was I when this happened? When did it become something other than your one-sided infatuation? I can't believe I—"

"Didn't call it?" Selena says with a smirk. Okay, so Demi likes to predict what's going to happen in Selena's love life. Generally Demi doesn't have much of one.

"I can't believe I didn't know," Demi says, serious this time. She grabs the remote and switches off the TV. "Tell me everything."

*

Demi knows it's awful to take advantage of someone when they're happy and depressed at the same time, but Demi's been meaning to do this for a while, too, and waiting for good timing is never a good idea.

Besides, it's Selena. She understands these things.

"Would you mind if I brought Taylor along to laser tag?" Demi asks Selena just before third period on Friday. "I know how you get about these things."

Selena makes a face that Demi guesses is supposed to be mocking, but mostly just makes her look like a mouse. A lady mouse. "In what capacity would she be coming?"

"Friend," Demi offers with a one-shouldered shrug. "With a—chance."

"Of what, dating?"

Demi presses her lips together, shrugging. "Of—I don't know, I guess I— A chance of me working up the nerve to kiss her."

"Kiss her," Selena echoes skeptically.

"Kiss her," Demi says. "She's not going to. And I think she wants— It just seems like the best way to find out."

"Can't you just, I don't know, _ask her out_?" Selena points out. It's a sensible question. It is.

"Well, no," Demi says. "Can you imagine that conversation? 'Hey, wanna go out sometime—yeah, like a date—like a _lesbian_ date.' Who wants to have that conversation?"

"A girl who wants to go on a date with you?" Selena suggests. "I thought I was the irrational one here."

"I'm making an exception," Demi says.

Selena nods in acknowledgment as she shuts her locker. "But if she's not into you... Wouldn't kissing her be even more awkward?"

"Not for me," Demi says firmly.

Selena raises her eyebrows, and they reach the point in their walk where their ways diverge.

"Don't pollute my fun, Demetria," Selena says, but her serious face breaks into a smile before she turns away.

*

"I am sorry to report your laser tag date is a no-go this week," Joe says, gesturing at the box he's carrying until Demi holds out her arms for it. She staggers when all the weight shifts off his.

"No," Demi says uselessly.

"Alyson called in sick," Joe explains.

"No," Demi repeats, " _again_?"

Joe makes a face that's like a shrug without actually shrugging. "Did you hurt yourself?" Demi asks. "Is that why you just—"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He turns away.

"It is, that's why you're moving like that, or not moving like that. That's totally why you're—you don't want to be pathetic and wince, so you're not moving. What did you do, Jonas?"

"I didn't do anything," he says, and his tone is weirdly wistful instead of defensive—like he's just as surprised as she is.

Of course, Joe being Joe, he could just be faking it.

Whatever. Selena said she'd pick Taylor up and bring her over to the store to get Demi, so Demi needs to call and cancel. Twice. Because she's the one who personally invited both of them, so it would be kind of a dick move to get Selena to phone-tree this.

Selena takes it in stride; it's not the first time this happens, and it's not like laser tag is something they're not going to be able to do in two weeks' time. It would be out of the ordinary if they _didn't_.

Taylor is a different beast entirely, so Demi needs about an hour to muster up the courage to call her. She has some painful second-hand knowledge of how Taylor reacts to this kind of situation, and a big, big part of Demi doesn't want to live it first-hand. Like, sure, obviously she doesn't want to be yelled at about how Taylor's not being put first the way she should and how Demi shouldn't make plans if she doesn't know for sure she's going to make them. Obviously nobody wants to be on the receiving end of that.

But it's also—Demi's kind of forgotten about all that, and she really likes Taylor, and she doesn't want that to go down the drain. It's really good. This morning she didn't even hit the snooze button; the last time she got up without putting it off for at least thirty minutes, she was in middle school and she'd just met Selena, she'd just met her first real friend.

And Taylor is—her first potentially viable crush, maybe. It's a horrible way to put it, but she is. Demi likes that too much to lose it, and Demi was far too involved in Joe's love life this summer to know how off-putting Taylor can be.

As it turns out, Selena's tipped Taylor off by the time Demi actually gets to a phone.

"You really could have called yourself," Taylor points out. It doesn't sound that much like an accusation; actually it's a pretty rational thing to say, particularly when she explains, "I mean, it's fine that Selena did, but I'm not really friends with her."

"I know, Taylor," Demi says, ready to add _I'm sorry_ , but Taylor interrupts.

"Or, okay," Taylor says, "would it be weird if I was? Because I just spent twenty minutes on the phone with her and I kind of think I could be."

Demi blinks. "Are you asking for my permission to— You can be friends with whoever you want."

"That's what I thought," Taylor says. "Just wanted to hear you say it."

"So you're—fine? With me canceling?"

"Yeah," says Taylor, "I mean, it's not like we're dating. It's totally cool."

"Out of curiosity," Demi tries, steeling herself for the answer, "how would you feel about this if we were dating? In, you know, the hypothetical that I'd be—someone you were dating. How would you feel about it?"

There's a humming sound on the other end; Demi can picture Taylor shrugging, trying to figure out what to say. She can't tell if she likes that better than the other possibility that crossed her mind as she asked—the possibility that this was a ruse and Taylor had an answer at the ready. Of course, this could still be—

Demi's losing her mind. A little bit. She waits.

"No, I don't know," Taylor says. Demi can't tell what the _no_ follows, but it's definitely not something Taylor's said out loud. "Well, it would be new? So that means I would probably assume you had no ulterior motives to call off the date. Since I wouldn't be a sure thing yet."

"That's interesting," Demi says, just to say something. It kind of feels like she should acknowledge what Taylor's saying if she's really going to be hypothetical about it, even though there's really no good way to do that.

"And I _guess_ if I assumed you weren't trying to get out of it by lying, I would also assume you still wanted to see me? So I might come by anyway. Keep you company for a while, even if you were busy." An intake of breath, and Taylor adds, "Or, well, if we're doing hypotheticals, I guess if we had been dating for a while, it would depend on your track record. But you don't seem like much of a stander-upper."

Demi's brain adds _Like Joe was?_ , but it thankfully doesn't make it out her mouth.

It must be a few seconds of near-stunned silence on Demi's end before Taylor says, "Actually, would you mind? If I came over? I don't have that much to do, and I write better with a steaming cup of cocoa in my hand and a lot of books cushioning the view from my seat." There's a rustling noise—something like paper—and then a clack, like a chair leg knocking on the floor.

"Are you noting that down?" Demi says, smirking. She should probably be worried that she finds the possibility endearing, but she can't. It just is endearing, the way Taylor will sometimes ask the world to stop turning until she can grab a pen and scribble something down.

"Would that make you more or less likely to say yes?"

"About the same," Demi answers. "Though honesty would probably increase your chances."

"Then, yes, I—" Taylor stumbles on her words; Demi can tell that's self-consciousness kicking in, like she just realized she's letting Demi in on a really specific instance of one of her weird habits. "Yes, I am."

*

"This is so weird," Joe stage-whispers to Demi about an hour later. He's supposed to be on cashier duty; he shouldn't be hanging around stage-whispering things to Demi.

"Go back to work, Jonas," says Demi, not even bothering to turn and look at him. She's busy. A shipment came in this morning and it's still all packed up in the back. She's not even getting to see Taylor, and that's just wrong. She wants to know what it's like to have her around now she actually wants her around, and she wants to know what it's like to know someone moved her evening to your workplace just to see you.

That sort of explains Joe's remark, though.

"Okay, I'll bite: what's so weird and why is it weird?" Demi says, cutting through a box. Joe's standing a couple of feet away, near the door. Demi glares at him, but it doesn't work: he continues to stand there, and she continues to open the box without help.

"She's acting normal," Joe says. "I mean, normal for her. She still scowled that little—" He makes a face. "—that little scowl at me when she came in.

"I seem to recall a time where you wouldn't have thought that was weird," Demi comments.

"Yes, and that time is long gone, Demetria. Every second, poof, gone."

"What is she doing?" Demi asks, following it up with a long-suffering sigh, like she's just humoring him. Which she kind of is. But she also really wants to know.

"She's drinking, and she's reading, and sometimes," Joe says, pausing for dramatic effect, "sometimes she's _writing_." He widens his eyes, eyebrows rising like that's supposed to mean something to Demi.

"So she's acting like... herself?" Demi attempts.

"Yes," Joe says, still nodding dramatically.

"Go to work," Demi says again, hoping this time it will stick.

"What did you do to her?" he asks sadly, and turns to leave before Demi can come up with an appropriately sarcastic reply.

Truthfully, she doesn't have one. Also, she realizes as she stacks up one of the shelves on a cart, she's not hanging out with Taylor. Okay, Taylor coming by Demi's work sort of presumes that Demi's busy, but usually Joe does shelving, which kept him within Taylor's sight when she used to drop by for him. Demi's holed up in a room with a door that faces the completely wrong side of the store, the one with the window to the alley instead of the in-store coffee place.

She checks the clock. She has a five-minute break in two minutes; she figures she can take a shorter one a little early.

"Hey," she says when she reaches Taylor. "I'm sorry I've been kind of MIA."

"I've only been here half an hour," Taylor says. "Plus, you're kind of working. I'd be more worried if you weren't."

"I could use some help in the back," Demi says. "There's a big, big shipment. Lots of boxes. If you don't object to helping someone do their job for free. You don't even have to help. But it will be weird if you don't, because these are way better seats than the chairs in the back. And there are tables. Which is much better for writing than there not being tables."

"I don't object," Taylor says, finally cutting off Demi's ridiculous rambling.

"Good," Demi says, watching Taylor gather her things. She'd wait, but—it's weird. "You know where to find me?"

"Yeah," says Taylor, and bites her lip.

Demi grins.

*

Taylor's surprisingly efficient for someone who hasn't worked a day in her life.

"I like to think doing open mike nights counts as working," Taylor says. "Since that's kind of what I want to do with my life and all that."

"It's not really menial work, though," Demi points out, squeezing an empty box into another.

"Dude, you play guitar, it kind of is," Taylor says. "Especially when you find yourself having to carry your own amp."

"Point."

They take an hour to fill up all the available carts—which aren't even that many, because Demi's co-workers have a terrible habit of leaving carts hidden in the depths of the History aisle or, worse, the children's books section upstairs, where there's this big tower of plush books that makes for a fantastic cart-hiding place if the kid's old enough to think of it and young enough to be an ass. It's an awful habit. A habit Demi's kind of guilty of herself.

When Demi finishes stretching her knees—one day, she'll stop filing things on the floor; today is not that day—and wiping fuzz off her jeans, Taylor says, "So where do we start?"

That's how Demi finds herself reorganizing the Drama shelves in the aisle closest to the alley window while Taylor sits cross-legged on the floor reading out excerpts from _The Winter's Tale_. Demi zones out every other line; Taylor's not reading linearly, she's hopping around the book, so it's not like Demi's missing much. Besides, she had to read this when she was a sophomore, and she wasn't that into it.

She's up to Shaw when Taylor recites, " _Lilies of all kinds, the flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack, to make you garlands of, and my sweet—_ "

"Oh," Demi interrupts, hopping off the short ladder she'd stepped on to reach the highest shelf, "I got you something. Hang on."

Taylor looks up at her, eyes wide and questioning, but she doesn't move, at least not before Demi loses sight of her. She has to go all the way to check-in to get her bag, the opposite end of the floor, but at least there are no staircases involved.

She resists the urge to roll it in her hand and hide it behind her back as she gets to the Drama aisle. She has to remind herself that it would be stupid, because Demi already told Taylor she'd get it for her, and because it's not something Demi even purchased. It's a second-hand scarf. It would be stupid to make a gesture out of it, even if Demi's running out of ideas for proper ones. Laser tag may not scream _I want to make out with you in the backseat of my car_ , but it was a start.

Taylor's put _The Winter's Tale_ back where it belongs by the time Demi gets back. She's browsing the N-T poetry shelf, which is pretty much at her eye level, and she begins to turn when Demi's footsteps get closer, and Demi takes the chance to wrap the scarf around Taylor's neck before she can see it. "I'm not sure it's an exact match, but."

Taylor looks down. "Are you kidding? It's awesome," she says, playing with one end and sporting this super goofy grin. Demi laughs despite herself. "I thought it was like, one of those empty 'oh, I can totally do that' promises. No offense."

Demi laughs again. "I want to lie and say I remembered all along and was just waiting for the right moment to pry it out of Selena's cold, dead fingers, but—that would be creepy, so I'm not going to. I totally forgot until I saw it."

"I'll take it," Taylor says, and unravels it from her neck, reaching sideways to hang it on one of the ladder steps. "I'd keep it on, but the heating here is about three degrees from melting my skin off."

"Gross," Demi says after a beat.

"I think that's my line," says Taylor.

"You said the gross thing." It's barely a whisper—they're talking in hushed tones.

They're talking in hushed tones because Demi's hands are on Taylor's elbows and Taylor's back is lined to the bookshelf and they're really, horribly close, so close Demi could really—she could really kiss her.

She doesn't. She doesn't pull back, either; she stays right where she is, thumbing softly at the soft skin on the inside of Taylor's forearms, the small patch just below the edge of her folded-up shirt sleeves. There are people in the store, rumbling from the machines in the coffee shop, people talking, music on the sound system—not Katy Perry, thank god—and the dull, consistent white noise of any public place like this, but all Demi can hear is her own breathing, conspicuously loud in her ears. She can hear herself swallow. She can hear her lips pop when she attempts to open them, to remember how to move, even if it's just something small like the muscles on her jaw.

It draws Taylor's attention to Demi's mouth.

It's not the first time. The other day, when Demi drove Taylor home—there was a moment like this, where Taylor was outright staring. That's why Demi thinks this crush is viable. This is the one thing on which she's basing her hopes.

This time, Taylor's eyes don't just stick, entranced like the spell might break and they might snap away any second. Her gaze lingers over Demi's face, hopping in blinks from spot to spot until Demi leans in and they shut down hard, fast, and Demi—Demi didn't plan to do this, but she is. She's brushing her lips to Taylor's, a shy ghost of a kiss.

Taylor's arms fall to her sides, and Demi's kind of amazed she hadn't realize how tense Taylor was until now, until her muscles seem to thaw under Demi's hands and Taylor's weight shifts to one of her feet, knee bending and making her stand in a less tall, more natural position. Taylor doesn't respond wildly, but she responds, which is more than Demi had dared to expect. She reaches forward, foot taking a short step to lie between Demi's, and her mouth catches Demi's bottom lip, this soft pressure Demi can and returns easily until they're trading feather-light kisses.

Until they're trading feather-light kisses in the middle of a public store, in the middle of Demi's shift.

"I'm working," Demi blurts out when she pulls away. It's abrupt. It's really bad. She's pretty sure the concern shows on her face, and Demi's concern isn't even usually the expressive, perceptible kind.

"You're working," Taylor echoes, eyes wide like a deer. It's endearing and terrifying and Demi steps back immediately, giving Taylor space. She grabs a couple of books from her cart just to hold something in her hands. It doesn't make her feel any better. "No, yeah. You're right." Taylor's eyes bounce off Demi's, resting anywhere but on Demi's face. "I should let you do that."

And like that, Taylor grabs her things and pretty much legs it.

Demi finds comfort in the fact that Taylor takes Selena's Miss Piggy scarf with her. It's not very effective comfort, but it's comfort all the same, and she looks at the stationary ladder for a while, just standing there because, okay, she just ruined her entire friendship with Taylor, and whatever could have happened next. She kissed Taylor in _broad daylight_. Out of nowhere. Without warning or planning or actually going on an actual date.

"Dem," a voice says behind her, and Demi jumps.

It's stupid. It's not even a strange voice. It's not even a customer. It's _Joe_.

"Jesus, what do you want?"

"Are you okay?" Before Demi can answer, he tacks onto his question, "We're low on cashiers."

Demi nods, breathing through her nose, trying to steady her heartbeat.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says quickly. "You just startled me."

Joe doesn't seem convinced, but he lets it go.

*

"You're so lucky," Selena says morosely at lunch on Monday. She's already been put through all of Demi's neuroses regarding Taylor, including the fact that in the past two days, Taylor hasn't called, or texted, or e-mailed, or smoke-signaled, or done anything to put Demi out of her misery. "You're so lucky you're not-dating a senior."

It had never crossed Demi's mind before that—yeah, Taylor's a year older, but so is Joe. It's not like Demi feels younger than them. In fact, when she's around Joe, she feels like she has a decade of wisdom and common sense on him. Wait, not just feels; she's pretty sure she does.

It also crosses Demi's mind now that it's Tuesday and she's only seen Taylor in a hallway or two for about a split second each time. There's still the AP English situation, but that's only Thursdays and Fridays for an hour each. It's not like she shares all her classes with anyone, but Selena's right; dating a senior means they barely cross paths, so the awkwardness is kept to a minimum.

"You're starting to long for a sitcom set-up where you constantly see each other and eventually you have to address your feelings for each other as things come to a head, aren't you?"

"No," Demi says honestly.

"Well, you should, because your leading lady's heading in."

Demi looks up. "So how's the Nick thing going?"

Selena snorts. "Seriously, you're going to use that as a distraction? Okay. It's going as badly as it was last time you asked. Two hours ago. During which I have only seen the back of Nick's neck, which is nice but not actually very telling."

"Uh huh," Demi hums in acknowledgment, watching Taylor walk up to the cheerleaders' table with her tray. As Taylor sits, she looks up, and their eyes meet for this weird, horrible second. Demi swallows.

"I'm honored by the amount of attention you're paying to me," Selena says somewhere to her right. "But I can't blame you, I'd be doing the same thing—stop looking at her," she says, and hits Demi in the shoulder.

"Ow," says Demi, but it's actually effective in making her look away from Taylor.

At least until Taylor walks over to their table and stops walking, leaning over slightly, just enough for her fingertips to reach the surface of the table. "Can we talk?" she says. Demi presses her teeth together, trying to figure out what to say, and ends up shrugging and shaking her head at the same time. "Somewhere a little more private?"

"I'm private," Selena says, taking a bite of her muffin. Taylor eyes her for a second and looks at Demi again.

"Sure," Demi says, "and she is. I mean, she's going to coax it out of me later anyway, so you can say whatever in front of her."

"Okay," Taylor says. "I guess it's not that—weird, anyway. Do you want to go to the movies? Maybe? With me. Like, I don't know, tonight, or tomorrow, or—Friday, I'm not good at this."

 _At asking me out?_ Demi thinks, but doesn't say it. Taylor could be trying to rekindle their friendship or something. If they let that in the hands of the universe or whatever, it's probably never going to happen, or it's going to be awkward to be around each other for a really long time. Demi feels something like relief to see Taylor just going ahead and _doing_ something about it, forcing some kind of conversation; she would have done that eventually if Taylor didn't, but it was Taylor who ran off. The ball was kind of in Taylor's court. Demi's kind of inordinately happy Taylor didn't just leave it there and looked the other way.

"You seem to be getting your point across okay," Selena says, and Demi turns to send her a glare. Selena crouches in her seat.

"So," Taylor says when Demi's eyes are back on her. "I mean, you don't have to or anything. Just thought it would be good. If we could—do something? Together? Like—you know." Taylor makes a vague, wavy hand gesture, and Demi decides it's obvious enough to grant the question.

"Like a date?" Demi asks, trying not to smile too overtly, or worse, smirk. It's really hard, and she totally fails at keeping a straight face.

"I don't know," Taylor says, letting go of the table and bouncing on her heels. "Maybe we should just go on it? And find out."

Demi smiles and says, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

*

They settle on Thursday—they're both light on immediately due homework that day, and it seems like a good idea to let the _it's late, I should get going, need to get up early_ excuse be usable. Demi has the car, so she picks Taylor up at her house.

She gets there slightly early; Selena convinces her to get ready about an hour before they agreed to meet, but Demi's not Selena. Demi doesn't need two years to get ready, not for a semi-date with someone who probably doesn't need the pressure of Demi acting like it's definitely a date, no questions asked, no going back.

Taylor does dress up, which isn't _unexpected_ , exactly, because it's Taylor, but she does look slightly less dorky and romantic, which is definitely out of the ordinary. Demi gets a glimpse of her outfit before Taylor tosses her coat on; Taylor's wearing this long-sleeved purple dress, kind of short for her, with black tights and a black leather belt that goes with her black leather shoe boots. She looks awesome, and she looks like Taylor, but Demi's used to Taylor's summer dresses at this point and this is definitely a change.

It's not a date, so Demi goes ahead and says it. "You look unusual." The corner of her mouth is curling in what Demi hopes is a fond-looking smirk. Or at least not a creepy one.

"Bad unusual or good unusual?" Taylor asks, tilting her head expectantly.

"Hot unusual," Demi says without thinking, and curses under her breath. "Shit. Sorry."

"That's not even close to the worst compliment I've had directed at me," Taylor says, smiling. "Trust me."

"Well, you did date Joe. Your bar must be pretty low."

Demi considers testing how low that bar is through their semi-date. Or, well, it's not really about testing that. It's more that they're sitting next to each other in the dark and the only person Demi usually sits next to in the dark is Selena, and Demi can't really tease Taylor and throw popcorn at her. It seems like a very improper thing to do. So everything else she comes up with, the few times where the movie doesn't distract her from thinking about how she's basically on a date—on a date with a girl. On a date with _Taylor_ —and freaking out, comes from movies. And TV shows. And like, maybe Joe's the kind of guy who'd be a total doofus and pretend to yawn to put an arm around a girl's shoulders, but Demi can't do that. That'd be pushing it, and also really embarrassing.

Really, it'd be better to use the knowledge that Taylor dated Joe as a step-by-step guide on what not to do.

She can't really predict her phone ringing the second she turns it on once the credits roll in. "It's Selena," she says, and Taylor looks at her with a little frown. Demi shrugs apologetically, says, "Meet you in the parking lot?" and waits for Taylor to nod before making a headstart for the exit doors.

When she puts the phone to her ear, Demi hears, "Nick broke up with Miley."

"What," Demi says. "Are you seriously interrupting my—whatever to tell me that?"

"No," Selena says. She doesn't sound thrilled. She sounds like she's having a total meltdown.

Demi runs to her car and opens the door, throwing herself onto the driver's seat, legs hanging out the door. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I don't know. What do I do?"

"Is there a list of possibilities? Something to choose from?"

Selena snorts. "No," she says, outraged. "No, Demi, there is not a list. There is a _boy_ who just showed up at my house, told me he'd broken up with his girlfriend because he _thought I should know_ , gave me a weird look, and left."

"Well," Demi says, "it's Nick. Did you seriously expect him to be a normal person and just ask you out?"

"No, but, like. Should I do it? I mean, he didn't let me say anything. I called his house ten minutes ago and _Joe_ answered, and he said Miley'd been over and that explained the rage issues."

"What rage issues?" Demi asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Ah, I don't know. Something about his punching bag? And Miley needing it? I wasn't really paying attention." Well, that explains Joe's wincing earlier. Demi makes a note not to provoke Miley; she's pretty sure whatever happened was an accident, and it's just not good to fight someone who can't contain her punches within the range of a big damn punching bag. "The point is," Selena's saying, "do I give him a mourning period? He cheated on her. With _me_."

"I seriously have no idea what you should do," Demi says. "And I'm on a date," and of course that's the moment Taylor chooses to walk into Demi's line of vision. "Shit," Demi says, "shit. Look, I'll go see you, okay? I'll cut this short. We can deal with this together. Just think about what you want. If you want him, you should just—talk to him. This whole thing happened because you weren't straight with him in the first place. Don't make me tell him myself."

"Okay," Selena says, and Demi lets her be the one who hangs up.

"Sorry," Demi tells Taylor.

"I get it," Taylor says.

The drive back is awkward, and it's not until Demi makes a turn into Taylor's street that she ventures asking, "So what's the verdict?"

"On what?" Taylor asks absently.

"Date, not date," Demi says. She makes a humming sound, considering. "Half date. Half not date."

"Well, we finished watching the movie," Taylor says. Demi pulls in and stops the car. "So, three-quarters? Date. Three quarters of a date." Taylor's voice is sweet, a little amused, and Demi's glad that's how it sounds, and Demi's also kind of angry they didn't get to have their full date, now that she knows Taylor really did want it to be one.

"Any chance we'll get the last quarter?" Demi asks, turning around warily.

Taylor grabs her gloves—serious ones, purple—from her bag and slides one on as she says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think we could do that. We should do that."

"And then we'll have a full first date. And—" Demi trails off, nodding instead of saying _it will make more sense if I kiss you_. Taylor blinks, and Demi reaches over to unlock the door, even though Taylor could have done it herself, and returns to her seat. "Okay."

"Yeah," Taylor says, pressing her lips together, and then there's a brush of wool-covered fingers on Demi's cheek and Taylor's tilting Demi's head up for a kiss.

It's not as shy as the way Taylor kissed back at the store, not as chaste and shallow, but it's still soft, little more than lips on lips and Taylor's teeth experimentally scraping Demi's bottom lip and Demi's tongue peeking out just a bit, just to touch the corners of Taylor's mouth.

"Three quarters of a date," Taylor says when she pulls back. Demi must look ridiculous; she feels like she's blinking a million times, eyes a little glossy. Taylor kissed her. This is an actual thing. Demi wasn't making it up.

Unconsciously beaming, Demi says, "Three quarters of a kiss?"

Taylor returns Demi's grin with a small laugh, and she pulls on her other glove before stepping out of the car. "You need to go see Selena," Taylor says, so Demi doesn't get out and walk Taylor to her door, but it's a close thing.

She does however watch Taylor walk up her driveway, glancing back every two steps and flushing a little, spots of pink high on her cheeks.

Taylor's _blushing_.

Taylor's blushing, and Demi's chest feels a little bit like it might burst.


	7. Joe

"So I think I'm dating your ex-girlfriend," Demi tells Joe late on Saturday, when they're closing up. "I think. Don't quote me on that."

"Taylor?" Demi makes an affirmative noise. "You're dating Taylor? I thought you didn't date."

Demi blinks up at him. "That's what surprises you," Demi says. "That I'm dating."

"Yeah. Dude, I knew you were into her before you did."

"That is not true," Demi says. "Also, just because I'm into her doesn't mean she'd be into me."

"Well, no, but. You're like, everything I'm not. You probably make her feel like she's the only girl in all the world, or whatever."

"Gee, thanks. I'm glad you think I have so many attractive qualities that someone would only want to date me because I'm not you."

"You do have attractive qualities! I'm not saying you don't! You do! I'm just saying that, on a visceral level, that's the only quick way it makes sense to me that Taylor would date a girl."

"Challenging preconceptions everywhere," says Taylor, appearing out of nowhere, except not really because Demi did say she was meeting her there. But it's still an unpleasant scare.

Taylor looks the other side and rolls her eyes when she meets Joe's eyes. Joe huffs and half-turns on his heels—she doesn't deserve a better response than that.

"I swear sometimes I don't know which one of you is more immature," Demi says.

"Ah, no," Taylor says, brandishing a finger in the air and shaking it _no_ , "you don't get to talk until you've had a girl dump you in thirty seconds or less."

"Is that where this is heading?" Demi asks. "You teaching me a lesson?"

"Not in _theory_ ," Taylor says mischievously, shrugging.

Demi looks down. Her dubiousness must show more obviously than Joe thought, because next thing he knows Taylor's saying, "Too public?" and pulling her fingers back.

Demi catches them and squeezes her hand. "Just the right amount."

Joe rolls his eyes and heads off.


End file.
